


A Second Chance at Love

by desertshrub (Kid_Oddity)



Series: GW2 Short Stories [1]
Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Guild Wars 2: Path of Fire, M/M, Smoking, really freaking cheesy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 18:49:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18349604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kid_Oddity/pseuds/desertshrub
Summary: “You’re overthinking again.”He scoffs. “Yeah, because you threw away my cig. I use those to take my mind off of things.”“Could a kiss help with that too?”Eorlos freezes. Did he hear that right? “Excuse me?”





	A Second Chance at Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of writing I posted on tumblr, and now I'm posting it, and other pieces, here!

He drags in a large breath of his cigar, letting the smoke burn in his throat before puffing it out into the air. Horrid cackling rings in his ears. His toes curl at the echoes of his brother—former brother, he reminds himself—who has forever left a scarring imprint on his life, physically and mentally.

Two weeks ago, Eorlos died at the hands of Balthazar. Moments ago, Dregris somehow slithered from Maguuma and found his way to Elona, for Eorlos, for _forgiveness_. Said that he _felt_ Eorlos die. He was more unstable than before his mind was corrupted by Mordremoth. He’s always been a bit of a lunatic, but there was so much more desperation under all of that jittering and stuttering. Those eyes of his… He’s gone completely mental.

And he had Caladbolg. He wanted to return the broken sword to Trahearne, and while Trahearne was somewhat glad to see it again, he refused it and threatened him off. Eorlos was frozen stiff the whole time. To see Dregris again, it was like a demon coming back to haunt him.

Eorlos shivers, drawing more of the cigar to focus on the sweet nicotine. He leans against the window sill and looks out at the vast desert. Thorns, if only he had a drink right now.

A hand takes away the cigar between his fingers. “You know these are bad for you.”

Eorlos glances at Trahearne, who tosses it away. Eorlos is far too tired to face him directly. “That’s my last one.”

“I know.”

Eorlos mindlessly continues staring out at the landscape. Trahearne shifts closer to join in the sight seeing. It’s quiet. It’s comforting. _Perhaps because it’s Trahearne._ The Firstborn is always a welcome presence.

“May I touch you?” he asks in a soft tone. Eorlos nods. Trahearne always asks. Always. Does he think if he suddenly reaches out for him, that he’d cause Eorlos to freak out or something? Hell, maybe that would happen. It’s pathetic really. Eorlos is pathetic. Making people ask to touch him. He’s weak. Weak, pathetic… _stupid._

Trahearne’s hand touches his cheek. It’s so gentle. He’s so gentle. Eorlos feels so fragile around him. It’s as if Trahearne treats him like something that should be handled carefully, like glass. It should be humiliating, but Eorlos doesn’t mind it. _Perhaps it’s because it’s Trahearne._

Out of everyone he’s ever known, the Firstborn has always been there for him no matter what. He was there after Dregris tortured him near death; he came every night to read when Eorlos was bedridden by his healing wounds. He was there when Tybalt died; Eorlos was absolutely ruined by that. He couldn’t function. Tybalt had been his first friend outside the Grove and became more than just a simple buddy. When he died, Eorlos shattered and Trahearne collected all his broken pieces.

And Tegwen… Teggy, heh. At that point, Eorlos expected death as a normal occurrence in war, but nothing could hurt more than to lose Tegwen. She was the last good part of his saplinghood. She was always so stuck up, but she loved him and Dregris even if they annoyed her to no end. They were an inseparable trio until Dregris went off the deep end.

He had to stand strong for Carys that day. He still wishes he was the one to sacrifice himself, but Tegwen was so insistent. When he reported to Trahearne, they both had mourned.

What had Eorlos ever done for him? Saved his life? That’s arguable. Trahearne is permanently scarred from what happened in the jungle. Saving him probably hurt him more than help. If only Eorlos wasn’t stupidly stubborn, Trahearne would be happier dead instead of having to keep an eye on Eorlos at all times. It’s not fair to him that he’s here in Elona. He doesn’t have to be here at all!

“Eorlos…” **  
**

“What!?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not cry—” Trahearne’s thumb slides over a tear on his cheek. “I suppose I am, huh…” Eorlos gives in and leans into his hand.

“You’re overthinking again.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, because you threw away my cig. I use those to take my mind off of things.”

“Could a kiss help with that too?”

Eorlos freezes. Did he hear that right? “Excuse me?”

Regret fills Trahearne’s face. He jerks his hand away and frantically tries looking anywhere other than at him until he finally stares outside. “I apologize. I misread the situation, and I—that wasn’t meant to be said in the first place. I’m sorry.”

“Would you kiss me?” No, he wouldn't. This is Trahearne, the Firstborn, his mentor. It’s Trahearne! Why would he even suggest something like that? He’s nice. Yes, of course, he’s so nice that he’d suggest kissing. Kissing!

Trahearne gazes at him, his cheeks flushing with his glow. “If you would allow me to.”

This is a bad idea. He can’t get close to someone like this again, but Eorlos can’t help himself. “Please,” he whines. He admits it; he wants this. Despite everything in his mind telling him no, he wants it. And he wants it now.

Trahearne’s hands cup his face. Soft lips slide into his, and Eorlos’ eyes flutter shut. Kissing Trahearne is featherlight, a careful dance, as if Trahearne wants to treat him with delicacy. It’s infuriating. He pulls Trahearne closer and ravages against his mouth.

_Forget, forget, forget_ , ****throbs in his head. He wants to get lost. Lost in the bundle of nervous passion. It’s electrifying. It’s not enough though. He’s starving. Starving for more. Every limb in his body quivers from needing something more. He stumbles forward and shoves Trahearne against the wall. If this stops, he’ll collapse. He’ll fall. He doesn’t want this to stop.

Eorlos grips onto him for life. He pushes and pulls for more. Fighting for more. Hopelessly aching for him. The careful dance is ruined. Tears join in the sloppy mess of his desperation. He’s crying. Trahearne pulls away, holding him and wiping his tears. Eorlos is _crying_. Why is he crying?

“Tra-Trahea—” he hiccups. “I-I-I’m sor—” His chest squeezes tight. He’s shaking. His vision blurs. He can’t see. He can’t breathe. No, he can’t breathe! _Not again. No, not again._

“Eorlos, listen to me. Stay with me.”

_Trahearne's here, it's okay. He's here. _Trahearne is here._ He's here. Listen to Trahearne._

“Eorlos, What's your favorite color?”

_It’s a weird color._

“Y–yellow…”

“Good. Your favorite flower?”

_You used to grow violet ones on your head._

“Chry–Chrysanthemum…”

“Deep breaths. And your favorite book?”

_Deep breaths. In. Out. Trahearne used to read all of it to you every night._

“Your journal…”

Trahearne chuckles, “Do you know where that had gone?”

Eorlos breathes. He finds that he’s clinging to the Firstborn and immediately steps back from him. “I, er, might have kept it with me.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t done that in so long.”

“Don't apologize, dearheart—am I allowed to call you that?”

His heart does a flip at the sound of _dearheart_. “Um, uh… Wow, we kissed, I guess that means… uh. I guess that does mean… okay.” He clears his throat. “Don’t expect me to say it return.”

“Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less from you.” He’s smiling. He’s always so pleasant when he smiles. “I'd kiss you more, but after what happened, I don't want to cause it again.”

“I'm fine. I swear it. It's fine.”

“Then…” Trahearne kisses the corner of his mouth where there lays a little scar. “I'll do this.” He kisses him again, this time along the scar across the bridge of his nose. And again, on another scar coming up from his jawline.

It’s fuzzy inside his stomach. It’s familiar. He felt this way with Tybalt. It’s not as strong as it was before, but it’s still nice. He missed this feeling. It’s happy. Tears well up in his eyes. He’s happy.


End file.
